


Try a Little Tenderness

by oooknuk



Series: Try a little tenderness [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Joe and Methos get comfortable.





	Try a Little Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Gasp! Joe/Methos fic! Other than that - a little bad language, a little fucking, a lot of chat, and MacLeod gets discussed but not laid. No violence (no, really)

"You know, Joe, I think the Charleston went out of fashion a long time ago," Methos said, obviously hugely amused at watching his friend weave like an ostrich in a ball bearing factory.

"Aw, can it, Adam. Why the hell didn't you remind me what I always said about champagne and false legs?"

"Was that one about not drinking before breakfast or the other thing? Whoa, Dawson!" he cautioned, catching the Watcher just before he fell. "What the hell is the matter with you? You didn't drink that much - I know, because I did and I can still walk a straight line."

"Well, your legs didn't get a few solid kicks from O'Rourke's thugs, you damn fool."

His impatience gone, Methos was now all concern. "They're damaged? "

"Won't know until I get inside and since I really need a leak, can we get moving a little faster?"

Methos gripped Joe a little more firmly, and together they got up the narrow stairs leading to the apartment he rented above the bar. Joe was a little ashamed of the way his hands shook as he tried to unlock the door, but Methos calmly took the keys from his hand and opened up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Help me into the chair, will you?" Joe asked. The wheelchair, though he disliked its restrictions, was at this moment a lot more reliable than his artificial legs, and since everything ached from his mistreatment earlier, he was glad to take the weight off his hips and stumps. "Be back in a minute - make yourself at home."

He eased his overfull bladder with a sigh of relief. Man, he was whacked. What a night - he didn't know what had shocked him more, MacLeod kneeling before that scum O'Rourke, or Mr 'Don't get involved' charging to the rescue like that. He chuckled - Methos acted like the world's oldest cynic, but he knew, Mac knew, he just talked a good game these days. You wouldn't exactly call him a soft touch - but he was just as big a sucker for the MacLeod magic as anyone else. And I'm just a sucker for Methos, Joe added to that thought.

Shaking his head at his own sentimentality, he wheeled himself out. Methos was sitting rather primly on the couch. "I wasn't sure if you'd like coffee or something else."

"Nothing for me, Methos, I need to get some sleep. Shit, I hurt all over."

"Are you injured?" Methos said with quick concern. "You said they kicked your legs."

"Yeah, and a few other places." He grunted as he stood up out of the chair and moved to the bed. Methos was there, helping him with his pants, and unstrapping the legs. He tended to forget the Immortal was a doctor, and although he'd never say so to his face, a good one too. Methos peered at the prostheses, swinging them at the knee to test their movement.

"They don't _look_ damaged, but they might need adjusting, I guess."

"Damn, I'll have to get the VA hospital to look them over for me." Another hassle he didn't need - he already had the mess in the bar from O'Rourke's men to clear up. He saw Methos looking at him. "What?"

Methos pointed silently to the boot-shaped bruise on his hip where his shirt had ridden up. "Are there any more like that?" he asked quietly.

"On my back, maybe."

Methos pulled him forward quite casually, and Joe's head rested on his broad chest as he looked over Joe's back, raising the shirt. "It's not terrific, Joe. I wish I'd taken his head myself," he said fiercely. "Why don't you lie down? I can do something about that."

Joe covered his surprise at the strange offer - it was a strange night, and he figured this was all of a piece with that. "Look, Methos, I'm gone, finished. I just want to get some sleep."

"And so you shall, Dawson. I intend to massage you right into dreamland."

"Sounds like the best offer I've had in years," Joe said.

Methos looked unexpectedly serious at his joke, but didn't say anything. "Have you got any massage oil? Or even decent olive oil?"

"Both - bathroom, kitchen. Knock yourself out."

He lay down. He wished Methos would either go home, or lie down and go to sleep, but he was in a funny mood. Hell, he'd saved their asses tonight, so what was a little back rub when it came down to it? Goddammit, he was tired. He hadn't had that much to drink, but it had gone straight to his head, and with all the emotion on the barge, he'd felt giddy before he'd had a drop. Methos seemed a little off to him - Mac had said something to him, and the kid hadn't said much to anyone after that, just sat on the sofa knocking back the champagne like there was no tomorrow. But Immortals don't stay drunk for long, and he figured Methos would pass any sobriety test in the world right now.

The man himself returned with a bottle and a hot water bottle. "What's that for?"

"To warm the oil, and then you can put it against your back. You're all knotted up, Joe."

Joe grunted. "Comes with the territory, Methos - you think swinging about on two fake pins is easy?"

"I know it's not. And I also know it is uncomfortable and I see no reason for you to suffer when I can ease it. Would you roll over?"

He had never heard this tone in Methos' voice before - usually it was sarcastic or hectoring, especially when talking to MacLeod, or at the very least, full of false innocence as he told another outrageous lie about the distant past. He snorted, remembering. "Something amusing you, Joe?" Methos asked.

"Just you and that vomitorium story - you must think I was born yesterday."

He heard a curiously light-hearted chuckle. "Had you going for a while, admit it."

"Yeah, it was a good one." He fell silent as his undershirt was pushed up, the hot water bottle was laid against the small of his back, and then warm, oiled hands slid over his shoulders. He almost moaned - God, it was a long time since someone had done this for him. He felt the shirt being tugged.

"Can I take this off?"

"Sure," he said, and then it was deftly peeled over his head.

"What about your boxers?"

Oh, boy. Now that was tricky - at least he was lying on the most private bits. It made sense - the pants would just get oily. "Okay." He was gently manhandled as if he couldn't move for himself, and he was so surprised he actually forgot to help. Methos removed his boxers deftly - maybe a little _too_ deftly - and put them carefully aside on the dresser.

Then the massage began in earnest. Man, Methos had great hands. Joe'd noticed them often enough, waving about as he made a point, clutching a glass or a bottle, shoved half in the pockets of those tight jeans he seemed to favour - Joe figured he didn't dare put them all the way in or he'd be singing soprano for the rest of his life, Immortal or not. And then when he touched Alexa's face - that'd been so sweet, Joe had thought then, and he remembered the brief fantasies he'd had about those long fingers stroking his beard, or running through his hair. Must be getting desperate in my old age, he thought sourly, fantasising about Immortals - and male Immortals at that.

"Are you okay?" Methos' voice came to him, and he realised he'd been drifting.

"Huh? Yeah, fine. That's real good, Methos."

"I'm glad. Now, I'm going to massage your gluteus - there's some bruises there, I'll be careful."

"Mmmm mmm," he muttered then nearly leapt off the bed when Methos' hands landed on his butt. Gluteus - oh, yeah, right.

"Okay?" Methos asked.

"Fine. How does it look?" Joe tried to sound casual, but he thought he still detected a nervous squeak in his voice.

"It looks good, Joe." Was he laughing at him? Joe didn't dare look - or comment.

Damn, that felt good. If only his hands would slip a little lower, a little ... yeah, like Methos would want to be feeling up an old fart like me, he thought. A legless, mortal old fart yet. Almost unconsciously, he spread his legs a little - just getting comfortable he told himself.

Shit! Methos was ... he was .... "Methos?" he yelped in shock.

"Don't you want this, Joe?" Methos' clever hands teased his cleft delicately, spreading his cheeks and rubbing gently between them. Joe twisted his head so he could see the Immortal.

"What are you up to, Methos? Is this your idea of a joke? To see if you can make the old guy lose his rag?"

He'd expected to see the familiar sardonic smile, but all he saw was a tender seriousness that shocked him even more than being touched so intimately. "No, Joe. I thought it might be something you would enjoy. I'm sorry if I went too far." Methos climbed off the bed, and looked down at his hands. "I didn't mean ... look, um, I'll take the couch if you don't mind, it's a bit late to find a taxi," he babbled, backing away.

"Methos!" Joe rolled over, belatedly realised he was totally naked and grabbed the pillow next to him to hold over his groin. "Get back here, you bastard."

Methos approached the bed, a wary look on his face. "I'm sorry, Joe. It wasn't fair of me. I just got carried away."

"Sit down, Methos. And stop dancing around, you're making me seasick." Methos sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at him - suddenly Joe was reminded of the way he had been so shy around Alexa, and he had a curious desire to offer reassurance. "Look, I ain't mad, but I don't know what you're up to. Do you just get off on feeling up gimps, or what?" The harsh tone sounded horrible even to him, and Methos winced.

"Yes, Joe, you've pegged it. After all, I've had sex with dwarves, and hermaphrodites, and dogs, and goats, and Siamese twins - you're what I need to complete the collection." He went to get up again, but Joe put a hand on his arm.

"Settle down, buddy - I'm sorry, okay? I'm just surprised you'd even want to touch me, that's all."

"Joe, I've wanted to 'touch' you for ages, but can you imagine it? 'Dear Diary'," he mimed writing in an imaginary book, 'today Don's former assistant became Immortal! And then we had sex. I know that the Watchers will understand - these things happen.'" He snapped the non-existent book shut. "I don't think so."

"So why tonight?"

"Because ... because ... oh, fuck it. I'm sick of caring what the Watchers do or don't know, and anyway, you're a lost cause as far as they're concerned after being kidnapped with an Immortal, by an Immortal and saved by an Immortal, don't you think?" he smiled wryly.

Joe chuckled a little. "Now you put it that way, I guess any idea of non-involvement got blown sky-high. Just you coming back here could get me shot, if they wanted, no matter what we do. But don't tell me you even noticed me with MacLeod around."

Methos grimaced, shaking his head. "No thanks - fighting Amanda once was quite enough ... and even if MacLeod was my choice, don't you think my relationship with him is complicated enough? You want to see what adding sex to that mix would do? Because I thought life was already much too interesting for you, Dawson," Methos added, grinning a little.

Joe laughed again. "Man, I gotta admit, part of me wants to see that, and the rest of me says, run like hell. You got a point - but what am I, the consolation prize?" He steeled himself - hell, he had no illusions any more and even being the runner up could be okay. Maybe.

Methos looked at him steadily. "No, Joe, you're the main event, so far as I'm concerned. I've always gone for older men - I mean, visibly older men," he amended, as Joe was about to point out the inconsistency in his statement. "Guess it's the father figure thing," he shrugged.

"You try and treat me like your dad, kid, and I'll strap your ass for you," Joe said severely. "You really want me?"

"Yes, but I understand if you don't ... I mean, it's not the best timing, is it?"

"I gotta admit I'm thinking of asking you to get some matches for my eyelids, but hell, Methos, when you ... you know ... touched me like that, it's a wonder you didn't see me rise off the bed." He removed the pillow and let Methos see exactly what he meant.

"God, Joe," Methos said in a choked voice. "You're ... you're beautiful." Joe grabbed the pillow back and glared at the Immortal.

"Now I know you're funning me, Methos. You've seen dick before, don't give me this crap."

Methos' eyes narrowed. "Lie down, Joe," he ordered in a tone which brooked no argument.

"What? No way!" He considered telling Methos to leave, he was getting mad enough to do it.

"Please, Joe? I'm not making fun of you." Damn, that sounded almost sincere.

Suspiciously, Joe obeyed, and even let Methos remove the pillow. He almost gasped as Methos laid a gentle hand over his privates. "Just beautiful, Joe. I love how your hair is almost pure white," he said softly, "and yet your penis is like a young man's. You were lucky it wasn't damaged in the accident." He stroked it tenderly, as if it were a favoured cat. Joe suppressed a shiver.

"Huh, for all the good it's done me since, it may as well have been shot off."

"Nonetheless ... I guessed your thighs must be pretty strong, but I hadn't realised ..." Joe heard the admiration in Methos' voice in astonishment. Methos _really_ thought he was hot?

"Don't the legs ... I mean them not being there ... doesn't that make you sick?"

Methos' eyes were incredibly wide and honest looking as he answered. "Joe, I've taken off limbs, amputated legs, arms, fingers - even a nose once. Your legs are healed, and healthy. Don't ask me to tell you how revolting some of the things I've seen have looked. No, they don't repulse me. And I don't have a kink for amputees either, before you ask. I would rather you had two legs, for your own sake. But for me, the sexiest thing about you is the organ inside your skull."

"You love my brain?"

"Of course I do. You were a hero to me as a Watcher, and you sure deserve a medal for what you've put up with from MacLeod and the organisation. And yet you still care and you're a good friend - and a pretty hot musician. Put beside that, legs are nothing. Besides," he added mischievously, "it's one less thing to get out of the way during sex."

Oh. God. That made him hard as a rock instantly, and he wanted to cover himself up - he had rarely felt so exposed. "Hey, how come you get to look, and I don't?" he protested.

"As you command, Joseph," Methos said sweetly. "Give me five minutes to clean up?"

Joe nodded, and Methos headed for the bathroom, switching off lights as he went until there was just a soft reading light casting a glow over the room. As Joe waited, he wondered what rabbit hole he'd just fallen into. Was Methos going to walk back in with a 'got you' card held in front of him?

When he did come back, he looked at the pillow Joe had again clutched defensively to himself and lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Second thoughts, Joe?"

"No ... yes ... dammit, Methos, you gotta admit, this is a weird conversation to be having with you. The whole damn thing is weird. How do I know this isn't just you playing with me?"

"Oh, I certainly intend to play with you, Joe, but if you're asking if I'll still respect you in the morning, the answer is yes. How could I not?" Then he bent to kiss him softly, and Joe responded automatically to the feel of gentle, warm lips on his own, and then to the tentative probing tongue. Oh, God. Who knew Methos could kiss like that ...?

"Methos ..."

"Yes, Joe?" Methos' voice vibrated against Joe's chin.

"What are you waiting for?"

He felt, rather than saw, Methos grin before he stood up. He had already taken his shoes off in the bathroom, and now he slowly undid his jeans. Joe found himself licking his lips and put a stop to that - dirty old man he wasn't, and why did he feel like he was about to deflower some kid? Methos - a kid. Right. And they didn't even kick you in the head tonight, Dawson.

With his fly opened and his white boxers peeking out, Methos peeled off his sweater, and Joe held his breath. This was what Don's quiet grad student friend had been hiding all this time? And as the long powerful legs were revealed, Joe almost whistled. "Do you like what you see?" Methos asked almost shyly.

"Wasted on a goat," was the first thing Joe blurted out, and Methos laughed.

"I agree - my owners at the time didn't."

"Owners?" Joe asked, shocked.

"Sure - Cassandra wasn't the only Immortal back then to be enslaved."

"How did you get free?"

Methos sat on the bed, and it was easy to forget he was naked, so at ease did he seem in his own skin. He shrugged. "My owner beat me to death one day, and I was thrown out of the household like rubbish. When I revived, I walked away. It was worth dying to get away, believe me," he said with a grimace.

"Jesus, Methos ... that's horrible...."

"And you're a Watcher. Come on, Joe, you know your history."

"I know ... but that it happened to you ..."

"Poetic justice, don't you think? Mac could never think up a punishment worse than what happened to me after I left the Horsemen, believe me."

His tone was so light, you might have thought it was nothing to him, but Joe was a Watcher, as Methos had just pointed out, and he didn't miss a thing. "Speaking of our favourite Scot, what did he say to you tonight? You looked like you'd sucked on a rotten lemon after that."

Methos shrugged again. "His idea of a thank you, I think. Apparently despite the fact he doesn't know who or what I am, I am worthy to be included in the Clan MacLeod - at least until I piss him off again."

"You saved his goddamn life and this is the best he could come up with?"

Methos grimaced. "I don't know why he just can't .... I mean, look, I'm just a human being - there's no great mystery about me..."

"You aren't exactly your average guy in the street, Methos."

"But I am, Joe, don't you see?" Methos' voice was getting louder as he grew more impassioned. "I'm nothing special - older, but no wiser than you. I have no superpowers, or special knowledge, or, or ...." He wound down, suddenly looking tired, and very young.

"Maybe not, Methos. But you're the oldest living creature on the planet. You also saved us tonight. Do you think that means nothing?"

Methos rubbed his hand through his hair in frustration. "No, of course not. If you three had died tonight, life for many people would be poorer and less interesting, and I would feel lousy. But it needed no great talent, and if you want to look at it selfishly, it got O'Rourke out of my way without me having to lift my sword."

Joe snorted. "Yeah, I can tell that was really important to you. Look, you know Mac - he's had a lot to work through the last year or so, and he doesn't think he knows himself that well. And you ... Jesus, Methos, all that time, all that living. Even for an Immortal, it's a lot to take in. I did things back in Vietnam and it's like looking back on an alien even though it's me ..."

Methos nodded. "That's how I feel about the Horsemen a lot of the time ..."

"Yeah, so cut Mac some slack. At least he didn't tell you he was through with you again."

"I know. He was being nice really. I just haven't got past wanting to kick his bum over kneeling to O'Rourke."

"You and me both, pal," Joe said with a grin.

Methos touched his knee. "Joe, do you think you and I might have got around to doing this sooner if we didn't talk about MacLeod all the time?" Methos' eyes crinkled as he smiled, illuminated by the soft light.

"If I'd known what you were hiding under all those baggy clothes, my man, I'd have jumped you years ago. Get that damn fine ass in here, will ya?"

Methos grinned. "Do you want the light on?"

"Damn straight! Methos, I ain't had sex for a year - if I could videotape it, I would because I sure need something to jerk off to."

"But wouldn't you just prefer me to jerk you off instead?" Methos asked innocently, putting his hand around Joe's erection.

"And what do I do when you leave?"

"Come with me, of course," he said and at that moment, it seemed perfectly reasonable. "Joe," he added, more seriously, lying almost on top of him, "you're a mortal, I'm Immortal. You're a Watcher. 'Forever' doesn't sit right in either of our mouths." And then Methos kissed him, and rubbed a hand on his cheek, through the bristles of his beard. It felt as good as he'd dreamed. "I'm offering you whatever you want tonight, tomorrow - this week. After that, well, you might get sick of me by then." The hazel eyes stared into his, alight with mischief. "It's been known to happen."

Joe's erection was trapped under Methos' hard stomach and the weight of him felt so fucking good - all that warmth and strength and soft skin ... "Man, at my age? You take what you can get."

Methos turned suddenly sad, his eyes downcast, and Joe realised how his words sounded. "Hey, you ain't second best, Methos," he said gently, his big calloused hands cupping the thin face before him. "No way are you second best. But like you said, no forevers, no promises."

Methos twisted his head and kissed one of the barricading hands. "All I want, all I need, Joe, is your friendship. If this will jeopardise that in any way, you need to tell me now."

His eyes, like his voice, were honest and earnest, and pleading for Joe to say the right thing. "Adam Pierson was my friend, Methos is and will be my friend. Nothing will change that. Nothing, you hear me?"

"Yes." And then the old man's face shifted again. "So, can we fuck now?" he said brightly.

Joe groaned. Five thousand years, he thought ruefully, and this is all the finesse he got. "And they say romance is dead," he said dryly.

"Oh, you want _romance_. Sorry, my mistake." Joe knew this Methos, and it was actually a relief to watch him clown, instead of the strange, careful man who had been sitting on his bed for the last ten minutes. "Mr Dawson, I would consider it the greatest honour and privilege if you would allow me to pleasure you and for you to take me with your awesome jade sceptre ...."

"Stop it, Methos, before I barf," Joe chuckled. "Jade sceptre?"

" _Awesome_ jade sceptre, please. God is in the details, remember?"

"Um... there's a little problem, if you're serious ... "

"What's that, Joe? Is it because you're in pain - we can wait, I'm not going to inflict my attentions on you ..."

"Aw for crissakes, Methos - it's not that. It's just that last time I did this, I had two legs. I, uh, don't ...."

Methos' worried face cleared. "Oh, if that's your problem, don't fret. Just lie back and let Dr Adams take real good care of you."

"Uh huh - how come every time your doctor persona comes up, I end up in deep do-do?"

"Joseph, being around _Immortals_ drops you in deep do-do, or have you only just worked this out, oh trained observer? Now, if you don't shut up, neither of us are going to get any ... this morning," and Joe realised with shock that the light through the windows was actually the dawn coming up, "and I for one am as horny as I am exhausted. I just want to make you come out your ears and fall asleep in your arms."

"Now, _that's_ what I call romance." Joe lay back, and Methos, for all his impatience, was gentler than any lover he'd had before. He kissed him tenderly all the way down his body, stroking and caressing. Joe held his breath, wondering what he was going to do next. Methos poured a little oil on his hands and rubbed them together before kneeling between Joe's legs, and leaning forward, clasped their twin erections together in his hand. He began to stroke their cocks together, and Joe moaned with pleasure - so much better than his own hand, even just the novelty of another touch than his own was good, but Methos knew what he was doing. And was enjoying it too, from the look of bliss on his face. It awed Joe slightly that this man - this incredibly ancient, experienced, mysterious man - could find such pleasure from his battered body. Joe gripped the slim hips.

"Joe, I want you ..." Methos said hoarsely. "Can I ....?"

"Do what you like, Methos," he said, hardly better able to speak, and then nearly came there and then as Methos poured oil over his fingers and began to prepare himself. What a sight, Joe thought. And Methos thought _he_ was beautiful. Joe envied those long fingers but didn't know how to ask Methos to take him instead. Next time, he swore. If there was a next time. And he desperately wanted there to be a next time.

Methos straddled him, and Joe suddenly realised what he was up to. Dear God. He yelled his partner's name as Methos impaled himself slowly ... all that silky heat ... it had been such a long time. He watched in wonder as Methos' powerful thighs levered him up and down on Joe's cock, the flat stomach clenching as he controlled the movements. It wasn't enough for Joe, he wanted Methos to lose control, to fuck himself hard ... Methos was damn _naked_. All the cynicism gone, all the pretended innocence, just a blazing need and passion ... Joe reached for Methos' hands and his were grasped strongly, and then Methos looked at him. _Really_ looked, his eyes open and clear and ... full of ... Oh Christ. Methos....

"Joe," Methos said, stilling himself, Joe's cock buried in him. "Are you all right, am I hurting you?"

"No ... it's not pain ... but I want you ..."

"You want more ...."

"Yes ...."

"Hold on."

"What ..." Joe asked, but Methos leaned forward, clasped him tight, and then rolled them over, Joe still inside him. "Whoa!"

"Just a little trick I picked up in a Persian brothel," Methos smirked before he pulled his knees to his chest. "Take me, Joe Dawson," he said huskily.

How can he do this, Joe wondered? Open himself up, make himself so vulnerable. For a moment, he was confused, not sure how he would do this with the power in what was left of his legs, but then Methos shimmied, and shifted and suddenly it was just right, he was in and moving and he was making Methos cry out in joy and he felt like a fucking _god_ or something. In he thrust, trying to make it good and the _ecstasy_ he could see, feel ... it was better than winning the homecoming game, better than the best goal he ever kicked, he was eighteen again and he could do anything he wanted. He was invincible, he was mighty.

"Yes, Joe! Please!" and to hear Methos - _Methos_ \- beg him like that ... he felt something cold and old inside himself crack and disappear, and that feeling of uselessness he could never completely shake dissolved until only the place where it had been was a slight emptiness and then not even that. At that moment ... Christ, he could say something dumb now and ruin it forever ...but he felt it. Felt such love and tenderness for the man making those amazing noises underneath him ...

He had to balance himself on his hands, so Methos' cock was being neglected but he didn't even seem to notice, as if Joe inside him was all he needed. He urged Joe on, almost like he wanted the Watcher to climb inside him, and damn ... what he was doing, clamping his muscles hard around Joe's cock ...

"Methos!" Joe shouted, and came hard, pistonning still and then he saw that Methos had come too ... without the touch of a hand, just from him inside him ... He looked up in wonderment at Methos' slack, blissed out face, and then Methos reached for him, pulling down onto the stickiness but he didn't care as he came to rest on Methos' warm body, his cock still inside him, slipping out but it didn't matter. "Jesus, Methos..."

Methos stroked his back gently, and rubbed his cheek against Joe's beard. "Thank you, Joe," he said quietly. "I've wanted to do that for such a long time."

"Damn, Methos, you're thanking me? That was fucking incredible!"

"We aim to please, Joe. Let's try and get some sleep - do you have to open up later?"

"Yeah, but I'll call Mike, don't worry. And if the phone rings, we'll ignore it, and if MacLeod comes around ..."

"I'll take his head," Methos said sleepily. "Good night, Joe."

Oh yeah, it had been a good night, despite everything. He wrapped himself around Methos, and made himself right at home. And just on the edge of sleep, almost out of his range of hearing, he thought he heard a quiet 'love you'. Maybe he imagined it. And maybe ... he didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised (or reread by me) since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


End file.
